“I was the one who was lacking, pathetic even, but I blamed you.”
“I was so jealous of you, getting everything I ever wanted, one by one… That’s why I hated you so much.”
“I’m sorry. Truly, deeply sorry.”
“I’m so sorry, Eun-jae…”
I didn’t even have the right to let my voice tremble with emotion.
Trying to push down the useless feelings welling up inside me, I felt Eun-jae’s hand grip mine tightly.
“It’s okay, brother. You’re allowed to feel that way with me.”
“What kind of sense does that make? Don’t talk nonsense. I haven’t done anything for you… nothing at all.”
“To me… it meant everything. And I hurt you too, didn’t I? With my thoughtless words. I leaned on you too much, made things hard for you.”
“That’s because you were young…”
“You were young too. We’re only a year apart, you know.”
“I’ve always… felt so guilty about that. I’m sorry for only saying this now, brother.”
I should’ve said it wasn’t his fault, that he had nothing to apologize for, but my voice wouldn’t come.
It seemed that the weight of those long-gone moments still lingered inside me, knotted and heavy.
Only now did I feel that the knot began to unravel, and different words slipped out instead.
“Thank you. For saying that.”
Eun-jae’s face broke into a bright smile.
“But… knowing you don’t hate me anymore, that you don’t dislike me… honestly, it feels good.”
“Really good.”
“So… can we go back to how things used to be?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?”
“Maybe…”
“Eun-jae. I know it’s shameless, but… can we be close again, like before?”
As if he’d been waiting for the question, his answer came swiftly.
“Yeah. We can.”
I could only manage a shaky, tearful smile in response to Eun-jae’s beaming grin.
***
The storm had passed, and before I knew it, the air date for Episode 2 had arrived.
Since we were in the middle of filming, all the participants gathered in the meeting room to watch the episode together.
Naturally, the cameras were rolling, capturing every moment.
“Wow, that’s amazing!”
“Seriously cool!”
Everyone was hyper-aware of the cameras, putting on exaggerated reactions for the lens.
‘They must’ve checked the response to Episode 1.’
The first episode had aired unfiltered, showcasing the raw reactions of the participants, which stirred up quite a commotion.
In particular, the way some treated Eun-jae sparked controversy, sending online communities into a frenzy for days.
Since most of us were actors or aspiring actors, the variety-show format probably felt unfamiliar, leading to those missteps.
There was a wave of defense, with some arguing it was just inexperience, but it wasn’t enough to appease Eun-jae’s furious fans.
The group had gone straight into dorm life after the broadcast, so it was hard for the participants to gauge the situation immediately.
Still, they must’ve done some monitoring during the brief moment we got our phones back yesterday, because their attitudes had noticeably shifted.
‘Thanks to that, the show’s buzz is through the roof.’
What could’ve been a fleeting mention, forgotten in a day or two, was fueled into a raging fire by the controversy over the participants’ treatment of Eun-jae.
That was probably exactly what the producers wanted.
Imagining them chuckling as the situation unfolded just as they’d hoped twisted something bitter in my chest.
I glanced at Eun-jae without thinking, and as if he felt my gaze, he looked back at me.
‘Why, brother?’
His eyes crinkled into a gentle smile as he mouthed the words.
Annoyed for no reason, I turned my gaze away sharply.
‘Yeah, why am I even bothered by this?’
I was being ridiculous.
Overly sensitive.
Maybe it was because of the conversation I’d had with Eun-jae recently, but lately, I kept thinking of him as the old Eun-jae.
The small, scrawny kid, quieter and frailer than his peers.
Back then, I thought he’d crumble under the pressure of the other trainees and drop out quickly.
Strangely, though, I hated the idea of that happening.
‘Was it because he was so good-looking even then?’
Looking back, it was like a mouse worrying about a cat.
‘I just… didn’t understand why you wanted to keep your distance from me. It took me a while, but I figured it out eventually. Still, I liked you all the same…’
Idiot.
A sigh slipped out of me.
I shook my head slightly, trying to chase Eun-jae out of my thoughts, and focused back on the broadcast.
Unfortunately, the screen was showing the moment from the first stage greeting where my eyes were brimming with tears.
[Contestant Kim Jae-ha, finally shedding tears!]
I didn’t cry. I really didn’t cry.
“Ugh…”
The other participants let out exaggerated gasps, clearly staged, and stole glances at me.
I’d already memorized everyone’s faces and names, so the attention didn’t scare me.
But it was… embarrassing.
‘Now that I think about it, I was the only one who cried.’
Actors, unlike idols, tend to keep a certain distance from their fans.
Few actors even have official fandom names.
So, most of the participants probably saw the cheering crowd as viewers, not fans.
In truth, only Eun-jae and Ha-bin had built up a real fanbase by the first stage greeting.
‘I couldn’t help it.’
I couldn’t forget the placard with “We support Kim Jae-ha” written on it.
The person holding it looked to be in their early twenties, and I was stunned they even knew who I was.
They were crying their eyes out, shouting that they loved me, saying they’d been my fan for seven years.
How could I not cry after hearing that?
As if reading my mind, the screen showed the fan holding my placard.
Even watching it again made my chest tighten, but the problem was that this was being broadcast nationwide.
That moment still shone brightly in my heart, still meant the world to me, but seeing myself on the verge of tears was a little humiliating.
[And the tears finally fall!]
I was choked up, not crying!
I desperately ignored the tears streaming down my cheeks.
Then, with a soft thud, Eun-jae leaned his head on my shoulder.
“Heavy,” I muttered, trying to push him off, but he clung on stubbornly.
I held back from shoving him harder, worried it might spark rumors of a feud.
‘I wonder if they’ll air that conversation I had with Eun-jae later.’
So far, up to Episode 2, there hadn’t been any scenes tying me and Eun-jae together.
I thought our story would be prime material for the producers to milk, but maybe they weren’t interested?
I’d assumed they’d at least sprinkle in some foreshadowing by editing in later footage.
‘They even asked about it directly in the interview.’
Yeah, they definitely asked during the interview—what’s my relationship with Eun-jae?
I thought they’d eat that up and use it to the fullest.
By then, Episode 2 had ended, and the preview for the next episode played.
The group let out a collective, theatrical groan of disappointment, every bit the actors they were.
A staff member stepped to the center of the screen, called out the names of participants for individual interviews, and dismissed the rest of us.
“Brother, how was it?” Eun-jae asked only after we’d left the meeting room and taken off our mics.
Moments like this made me realize how sharp and meticulous he could be… so why was I even worried about him?
“Hmm… well, your edit was good, and you got plenty of screen time.”
“Plenty?”
“I think I’m screwed if I don’t play this right.”
I expected him to be surprised, but Eun-jae looked oddly relieved.
“…You noticed, huh?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
First, the screen time.
It wasn’t bad.
In fact, I got more than I expected, which was surprising.
The problem was, they’d packaged me too perfectly.
They even slapped a subtitle on me: “Mother Bird Leader.”
It felt off even in Episode 1, but by Episode 2, I was certain.
‘If this goes wrong, it’s going to backfire.’
My fears from the first team evaluation were coming true.
In the broadcast, I was portrayed as a selfless leader willing to sacrifice anything for my team, a mother bird feeding her chicks by hand.
I’d been cast in the “mom” role.
In an idol group, the mom role isn’t so bad.
In a survival show?
It’s a death sentence.
They build you up only to tear you down the moment you show even a hint of selfishness.
‘They’re already going to talk about how I didn’t pick my old teammates for the second team battle.’
That’ll stir up whispers that I’ve always been a jerk, even from my child actor days.
Once that spark catches, a single misstep could torch my entire image.
It’s all about timing, of course.
‘I’ve always known that I had bad luck.’
“I knew they picked me to stir up drama.”
I’d expected two possible paths: either they’d dig up every controversy and rumor about me from the internet to sell my story, or they’d pit me against Eun-jae for comparison.
But this?
This was completely out of left field.
‘If this keeps up, forget making the top ranks—I might not get a single broadcast gig for years.’
If things continued like this, I was sure the producers would air that conversation with Eun-jae.
I should’ve taken off my mic before we talked.
“It won’t come to that.”
Eun-jae’s rare, firm tone pulled me out of my spiraling thoughts.
When I looked at him, puzzled by his conviction, he gave me a bright smile.
“Everything’s going to be fine, brother.”
“What’s that? Like, ‘I’ll sacrifice anything for you!’ kind of talk?”
Before he could respond, I cut him off.
“Don’t.”
“Whatever it is, just don’t. Then I really won’t look at you.”
I grinned at Eun-jae, who answered my silence with a smile of his own.
“I’ll handle my own problems.”
‘You don’t know, but my life’s on the line here.’
I swallowed those words, waved at Eun-jae, and headed toward the dorms.
Or rather, I started toward the dorms but ended up at the window at the end of the hallway.
My clenched fist was trembling slightly.
‘No way. It can’t be, right?’
Eun-jae’s attitude had stirred a suspicion I’d buried deep.
It was absurd, so I’d pushed it down, but it kept nagging at me.
Before I… died, I always wondered.
I’d been a fairly successful child actor.
As an idol, I got plenty of hate, but my group never flopped.
So why did everything keep falling apart?
That question had taken root when I left YM for an acting agency.
No agency would take me.
Even the one I’d been with as a child actor turned me away.
Back then, I thought it was because my looks had changed too much—my cute, youthful face had grown sharper, colder.
“Jae-ha,” the agency director had said, out of some lingering affection from my child actor days, “if I were you, I’d consider quitting this business. Listen to your mother.”
I never fully understood what he meant.
In the end, I had no choice but to sign with a small agency.
But none of them—not one—gave me proper support.
I thought it was because I wasn’t good enough.
And truthfully, I wasn’t all that great back then.
But part of me couldn’t shake the thought: ‘Can someone’s life really fall apart this badly?’
It felt like someone was deliberately sabotaging me.
That’s when the dark rumors about YM surfaced in my mind.
Once you’re in YM, you’re in for life.
If you leave, you’d better be ready to retire from the industry altogether.
Because YM will make sure you never succeed.